


Slowly, Take and Eat My Body Like It's Holy

by gaysquared



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Anal Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Making Love, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Praise Kink, Prostate Massage, Slow Sex, Sting bottoms when he's tired, kinky sabertooth gays, rogue has an authority kink, sting has a major praise kink, top! Rogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 09:28:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8367097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaysquared/pseuds/gaysquared
Summary: Rogue takes care of Sting after a long day.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So this is based off a headcanon of Rogue topping when Sting is super stressed out and just needs to be taken care of. Title taken from the song "Sunday Candy" although I was actually listening to "Motivation" by Kelly Rowland the whole time I wrote this.

Sting returns to the guild late in the day, looking tired, worn out; he flashes a soft smile at Yukino, Rufus, Orga when he passes them; doesn't bother with Minerva, because she'd see right through it. He greets Lector, says he missed him, says he's gonna try and get a nap in before dinner.

Rogue is waiting for him in his room; it's such a nice thing to come home to, at times.

 _Home_. Huh.

Rogue's reading as usual, although he puts his book down as soon as he sees Sting. His ink-black hair is up in a small pony-tail, his face open and soft. "How'd it go?"

Sting sighs, flopping down on the bed. "About as well as you'd except. It's the Magic council, after all." He rubs at his eyes, which are red from the all-nighter he pulled last night dealing with; of all things; paperwork. "Half-a-fucking-hour about fruit imports. Seriously. Who the fuck cares?"

Rogue frowns, bending over to look at Sting's face. "I'm sorry you had a rough day."

"Yeah, it was..." Sting trails off, tiredness catching up to him. His hair is wild from him running his hands through it, lip raw from being chewed on. His back and neck are sore. "Shitty."

Rogue hums, moving to climb carefully on top of Sting on the bed. "Being Guild-Master not so easy?" he muses.

Sting swallows, throat dry. He looks up at the dark eyes in front of him. "You could say that."

Rogue gives a small smile. "Well. I think you do the job pretty well."

Sting puffs out a little laugh. "You miss me all day?" he asks as Rogue's thighs settle around his.

"Mm. Maybe." Rogue's back curves as he bends down to lower his head onto Sting's chest. He arches like a cat, black robe only further illustrating this effect. Chin on Sting's sternum, he says, "You make me proud every day, you know?" His dark eyes glance down; a thin finger traces along Sting's bicep. "The way you wield control. You do it so well."

Sting licks his lips, breath a bit heavy, puffing into Rogue's face. The other man's weight now rests on him, heavy and comforting, but as Rogue straightens his back, the rest of his body lowers, connecting to Sting's like a perfect parallel.

"I think you missed _me_ , didn't you?" Rogue says, that little smile back again, although now Sting can see the barest hint of mirth playing in his eyes. "It's not fair you have to come home so tired. They don't treat you good enough, you know." The smile twitches, still controlled but growing more and more predatory. That cherry of a mouth moves up, dips; Rogue catches Sting's earring between his teeth, pulling softly.

Sting feels his face go red as Rogue whispers, "Not like I do..."

Sting gulps, eyelids fluttering as Rogue moves back into focus to look at him. "Do you want me to treat you good, baby?" Rogue says quietly. "You want me to take care of you?" He presses his groin down hard into Sting's own, shifting softly with another little arch of his back. Sting's mouth opens slightly, although no sound comes out; he feels a jolt of arousal as he realizes Rogue has probably been planning this all day.

"Y-yeah," he says, face hot. "Yeah, that'd be good."

Rogue hums again, looking pleased. "You're gonna be good for me, yeah? Let me make you feel good, let me help you relax?"

Sting feels frozen. He forgets, sometimes, just how many layers there are to his partner; he is shrouded, a nesting doll of identity.

"Sting?" Rogue asks, looking at him intently; Sting knows that look. He's waiting for consent.

Sting also knows nobody could take better care of him. "I'm always good," he answers, shooting back a bit of confidence. Rogue smiles.

"Not just good, babe," he breathes, a hand coming up to Sting mouth. He thumbs at his lover's bottom lip. "The greatest. Deserve to be treated so good. Like a king."

Sting moves to respond, but then Rogue's lips press insistently into his. He relaxes, giving up control as Rogue licks softly into his mouth. His cock twitches with interest, and he groans out loud as Rogue moves against him, the friction working him up delicately and purposefully.

Rogue's mouth slips away as he moves to push down the top of his robe, face pink with desire. He devours Sting's mouth again, hands ripping blindly at his lover's shirt until the buttons come popping off. Maneuvering the rest of the shirt out from under him is it's own task, tugging at Sting's hair as Rogue pulls it away.

Rogue smells like Frankincense, pleasant but heady and woody, as he mouths over Sting's jaw and down to his neck, nipping slightly as his hand lowers to palm over Sting's growing hardness. He groans again, and the hand presses in harder.

"Let's get these off of you, huh?"  
Rogue is nothing if not deft, sliding Sting's trousers off easily and swiftly. He takes Sting's briefs with it, like a sweeping tide. "Already hard for me," he says quietly, smile returning. It's usually such a rare sight, but tonight Sting is getting to see it several times.

He takes Sting in his hand, grip rather slack. Rogue barely skates his hand along Sting's cock, tips of his fingers just barely grazing the head; Sting feels his hips push up, chasing the contact.

"What do you want me to do for you, Sting?" Rogue asks, a bit of a teasing lilt to his voice. He drags a finger softly up Sting's balls, all the way up the underside of his cock. "You have to tell me."

"Want you to fuck me," Sting grunts out, and fuck if he doesn't go at least a small bit red. It's easier to say than it used to be, though.

"I can do that," Rogue says, eyes glittering. "But you have to do what I say, okay? You have to be good." Sting takes in a sharp breath, Rogue bending down to just barely drag the tip of his tongue along Sting's cock. "I know you can do it," Rogue finishes. "You're always so good."

Sting is flushed just from his words, his already well-bitten lip getting abused between his teeth again. Rogue reaches below the bed, probably looking for the oil. He produces it in his hand, looking up slyly as he does so. "Spread your legs for me, Guild-Master."

Sting licks his lips, and obeys, thighs spreading softly on the sheets. Rogue uncorks the bottle and pours a generous amount of lavender-smelling oil into his hand. The first touch of the pads of his fingers to Sting's entrance is cold, but quickly warms as Rogue traces small circles around and around the flesh. He massages, still not entering, and glances up as he sees Sting tensing.

"Relax, love," he says, moving up to place a deep if quick kiss on Sting's lips. "I'll take good care of you."

Sting absolutely believes that; it's just been a while.

Rogue starts to push his finger inside him at that, little thrusts at the knuckle working the digit inside slowly. Sting's used to the sensation by now, and thinks Rogue could honestly hurry up with this, but he knows his lover likes to take his time.

The single digit massages around, the scent of oil sweet in the air. It only glances over his prostate, although Sting's hips jerk at the much needed stimulation. Rogue repeats this, again and again, and Sting has to breathe deep to still himself. Another finger prods gently in, beginning to stretch him out.

Rogue reaches inside a little deeper, opening him up, and the gentle push-pull reminds Sting of the ocean. He hasn't been to the ocean in a while; he'd like to go there with Rogue sometime. His thoughts are interrupted by the third finger working it's way in; there's only a slight burn, but Rogue's fingers move a little harder inside him. Sting realizes he has his legs splayed open like a common whore.

Rogue finally rubs over his prostate again, and Sting pushes back onto the touch. If his cock had flagged at all while he was being stretched open, it doesn't show now. Rogue rubs harder, and Sting groans, face flushed. Harder, but still a slow, agonizing pace; Sting gasps as that other oiled hand slicks up his cock in a tight grip. The pace there is torturous too; Rogue matches his movements inside and outside, intense but diluted by timing.

He rubs even harder at Sting's prostate, and the man chokes on a moan, his cock dripping onto his stomach. A whine builds in his throat, but he resists; tries desperately to be patient.

"Please," he groans, swallowing hard. "Please, I want you. I want you inside me, please just--"

"Shh, shh," Rogue muses. "It's okay." His eyes flash bright. "I've got you."

He pulls his fingers carefully out of Sting, watching the man's entrance clench for a moment around nothing; then unties his robe. The black silk falls onto the bed, revealing Rogue's own flushed cock, hard, curving up towards his body. Sting would be lying if he said he doesn't almost salivate.

Rogue bites his lip in pleasure as he slicks himself up with oil; Sting had completely forgotten the man hasn't touched himself yet. His legs fall open even wider in anticipation, and Rogue settles between his thighs. Rogue traces an oiled hand along his tanned thigh, corner of his mouth twitching; he hoists Sting's leg up a bit to maneuver closer.

His cockhead rubs against his entrance, and it takes everything in Sting not to outright keen. Rogue's cock catches, backs up, circles his entrance again for another moment; before finally pushing in.

Sting exhales loudly, eyes closing tight as Rogue pushes into him slowly. It's such a full, overwhelming feeling, but still he can feel his hips pushing back, trying to work Rogue inside him.

"Patience, love," Rogue says, but his breath is rushed and his cheeks are lighting up pink. He settles inside Sting fully, yet still, Sting can't wait; he pushes back into the man, urging him to thrust. Rogue gives a small laugh, sparkling and beautiful, and does just as Sting wants. He thrusts in slow but full, pulling out almost completely before pushing back in.

He sets a torturous pace; hard enough, grinding against Sting's prostate, to get him close; but not enough to come. Desperation bursts in Sting's chest; he wants to cry, whine, push back hard onto the cock impaling him. But Rogue wouldn't have any of that, and he knows it.

Rogue grinds in a bit harder, and Sting's cock, neglected, jumps against his abdomen; his orgasm rushes head-on, and Rogue immediately slows down. Sting chokes back a cry if frustration; even as Rogue begins to speed up again, push in harder.

"Please," Sting chokes out, body a slave to Rogue's movements as he pushes back onto him.

"Just a little longer," Rogue says, barely retaining his calm demeanor. "I know you can do it, baby."

He's slowed down again now, and Sting wants to hit something, but he clutches at the sheets instead. Rogue's breathing is labored; he's clearly having trouble himself. Stings cock drips heavily onto his stomach, and as Rogue speeds up again, he can feel tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

"Please," he croaks out, beginning to go incoherent as Rogue grinds hard against his prostate. "Please, please, please--"

"You're doing so good, baby," Rogue says breathlessly. "Just a little longer, you're doing so good--"

Sting chokes on his own whines, writhing back on the cock inside him. "Please--" He gets his wish when Rogue starts to grind roughly inside of him, fast and unsteady. "Oh," he says, slightly delirious. "Oh, oh--"

Just when he thinks he can't take anymore, Rogue takes his oil-slick cock in hand, tugging at him quickly. Sting's head knocks back as he pants heavily, tasting copper as he bites his lips so hard it bleeds. "Come for me, baby," Rogue pants. "You can do it, come on, come--"

Sting's body jerks tight as he pulses in Rogue's hand; he thinks he's probably babbling obscenities, but he can't care. He just keeps coming, and coming, and it feels like he's sobbing. When the waves finally stop, Rogue is still touching his cock lightly, and his stomach is covered with the remains of his long-built-up orgasm.

"So good, baby," Rogue groans, face scrunching up. "So, so good-- g-good--" His cock spasms inside of Sting as he comes, warmth flooding the blonde man's body. He groans as he watches Rogue come undone above him; it never fails to be utterly fucking beautiful. Rogue collapses on top of him, and he sighs.

"Remind me to go to council meetings more often," Sting says, a little slurred, panting.

Rogue laughs, and gods, Sting loves that sound.

"Sting! Dinner is ready!" Lector's voice sounds outside the door, and Sting can't help it; he bursts out laughing.

"Barely a moment of peace," he says, shaking his head.

Rogue looks up at him, coy as ever, and smiles as well. "I don't know. I feel pretty damn peaceful right now."

**Author's Note:**

> Idk if you can tell but Sting is so stupidly in love with Rogue?? Like damn boy has it bad. Not that Rogue isn't absolutely enamored, he just shows it differently. Comments give me life! <3


End file.
